


cliff

by menocchio



Category: Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Concussions, Enemies to Enemies Cuddling on a Bike, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menocchio/pseuds/menocchio
Summary: First thing Daniel does when he opens his eyes and sees Johnny Lawrence hovering close over him is swing for his face.(Daniel gets knocked out when he goes down the hill; after much debate, Johnny and Bobby end up taking care of him.)
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 28
Kudos: 263





	1. daniel

First thing Daniel does when he opens his eyes and sees Johnny Lawrence hovering close over him is swing for his face. His arm doesn't really want to cooperate, it's heavy, and the punch is too slow by half, but Johnny jerks back with comically wide eyes anyway.

“Whoa! Careful, Johnny,” laughs an unseen boy.

“Great. He's alive,” says another, much less amused. “Can we go now?”

“We can't just leave him like this, look at him,” says yet another, and god, oh god, Daniel realizes he's surrounded about the same moment he realizes his head is killing him. He groans and shuts his eyes again.

“What's up with you, anyway, LaRusso,” says Johnny, sounding like he's trying to sneer, but his voice doesn't quite sound right, it's too shaky. “You never learned to fall properly?”

Something is pressing on the right side of his head, on his temple. Whatever it is, it's about the size of a quarter and weighs like a hundred pounds. It pulses. Daniel tries to reach up to move it off, whatever it is. It takes three attempts before he finds his own face. This seems bad.

“What kind of dojo doesn't teach you to fall?” asks Johnny. Daniel wishes he'd shut up already.

“Bet the punk never had a dojo, you saw how he fought,” said one of the other boys. Daniel is going to give himself five seconds to rest, and then he's going to go for that guy, whoever he is.

His eyes flutter open again, and he blinks up at the smeared night sky. Fear is a distant presence calling down a long hallway: something's not right, something's wrong.

“He doesn't look so good.”

“No mercy, Bobby, remember what Sensei says.”

“Yeah, but this wasn't a match. Hey, Dutch! Where are—”

“Look, he's awake, isn't he? C'mon, guys.”

And Daniel doesn't really track what's happening then because he opens his eyes again, and the sky is at a different angle. His head is resting on something.

“ – should take him to a hospital?”

“We can't do that, they'll want to know what happened and my stepdad'll _kill_ me.”

“Well, we don't know where he lives, so what are we supposed to do, Johnny?”

“I don't know, okay. I don't know, let me just – think about it, okay. Let me think.”

“No hospital,” says Daniel. There's a rustling and two faces appear above him. He adds, “I'm fine.” He doesn't want to think about what a hospital might cost, or how his ma will react.

There's a short silence and then Johnny says, looking at Bobby, “Good enough for me. I believe him.”

Bobby shakes his head slightly but doesn't disagree. He frowns at Daniel and asks, real slow like he thinks _Daniel's_ slow, “Can you tell us where you live?”

Despite already feeling like he is lying on a merry-go-round, Daniel somehow rolls over onto his stomach. He breathes in the tickling scent of the grass until he's sure he's not going to hurl and then pushes up onto his elbows. He needs to get outta here.

“LaRusso, what are you doing?”

Where's his bike? What did they do to his bike?

“Your bike's kinda trashed man. Guess you don't know how to mountain bike either.”

“Look,” says Bobby, “I'll get his bike, you grab him. Let's at least get off this hill.”

“Why do _I_ – ”

“This whole thing was your idea.”

They are both silent after that, or maybe Daniel passes out again, because next thing he knows, he is jerked upright, the world a place of incalculable violence and tilting darkness. He shouts and kicks and connects with _something_. The person curses and lets go of his arms, and he tumbles backwards, spine jarring painfully as he hits the ground again. His head bounces, a grate of razor wire across his vision.

“Shit!” A face above his, a little scared and a lot angry. Johnny Lawrence? What the hell was he doing here. “Fuck, LaRusso. Can you just be cool?”

Daniel blinks up at the blond halo. He can't believe he used to have a thing for blondes back home. Objectively the worst hair color.

“What're you doing?” he grinds out, words pushing with difficulty through the cement setting in his head, “Why can't you just leave me alone? You're always everywhere.”

“ _I_ 'm everywhere?” says Johnny, red-faced and incredulous. “This is my city, man. I was here first and you just showed up one day with your big mouth and bad attitude—”

“Johnny,” says another voice somewhere, sounding disturbed. “Are you arguing with a concussed guy?”

Something like guilt crosses Johnny's face.

“Never mind,” sighs Bobby, because it _is_ Bobby, that's right. “Look, let's just get him up, okay? I've got some water left over from practice, maybe that'll help clear his head.”

Daniel doesn't fight this time. They sling his arms around their shoulders and he hangs between the two taller boys, head sagging down, chin on chest so he can watch the grass pass beneath his feet. The hillside they're on might as well be Everest. It seems to take a long time to get to the top and it's silent the whole way, the sound of the boys' breathing puffing in his ears like a steam engine.

They reach the top of the mountain and even the karate twins seem to be breathing kind of hard. And there's his bike, busted as promised, the wheel bent all funny. Next to the two shiny motorbikes, it has never looked sadder.

“Okay, let's just get him down, right here on the curb,” says Bobby, and Daniel doesn't like how he's talking like he isn't even there. He is right here. He wishes he was anywhere else on the planet, but he is right here.

They lower him to the curb and he promptly tips backwards; hands grab roughly at his shoulders and pull him forward again.

“Cut that out,” says Johnny.

“I'll get the water,” says Bobby.

“I hate you guys,” says Daniel.

It turns out Johnny can't really let go of him because his balance is fucked, probably due to the spike they must've shoved through his temple earlier. So they sit there on the curb like a couple on a first date at the movies, the other boy's arm awkwardly encircling his shoulders. Daniel really doesn't like being the chick in this scenario, but he doesn't like a lot of things and it doesn't seem to make a difference. They keep happening anyway.

“God, I hate you,” says Daniel, because the karate book said repetition was the mother of all learning, and he really wants Johnny to retain this information.

“Same to you, buddy.”

The water seems like a bad idea. He thinks he might be sick after all. But when Bobby comes back over with the bottle, he takes a shaky sip.

Bobby crouches in front of Daniel and tips his head back to “get a look at your pupils, I'm an Eagle Scout,” whatever the hell _that_ means. Daniel doesn't really know where to look but he puts up with it: the arm around his shoulder, the hands on his face. This has to all end at some point, he thinks distantly.

“They look okay,” says Bobby.

“Great,” says Daniel, and his voice sounds really weird for a moment before he realizes Johnny spoke at the same time.

“Can you tell us where you live?”

“No,” says Daniel, and Johnny makes a rough noise of irritation in his ear. He flinches a little, head pounding. “I just moved here. I don't remember the address. Building's called... South Seas.”

Bobby looks at Johnny, who shrugs.

“I guess we can, um. Ride around Reseda and ask around?” says Bobby.

“Great,” say Daniel and Johnny, together again. Johnny's grip on his shoulders tightens in response.

Daniel shuts his eyes.


	2. johnny

How Daniel ever thought he could win in a fight beats him. No way he cracks 120. Still, that doesn't mean Johnny wants to be carrying him the whole night.

Daniel's slumped against him now, a crumpled pile of twerp with his head hanging against his chest, his thick, dark hair brushing Johnny's shoulder. Johnny had started to feel weird holding him up while arguing with Bobby, so now this is what he gets instead. He can't win with this kid.

“Why can't he ride with you?”

“Your seat is longer. And—”

“This was all my idea, yeah, yeah. Jesus.” For a best friend, Bobby could be a real pain in the ass.

“What's the big deal, anyway? Dutch rode with you every time he got too drunk last summer, and we're not even going to be pushing twenty tonight.”

“Even drunk, Dutch could hold on. I don't think this one,” and here Johnny nudged Daniel none-too-gently with his elbow, “is going to manage.”

“Well,” says Bobby, and gives him a meaningful look.

Johnny's eyes widen. “No. No way, man. Not on my own bike.”

He ends up sitting pillion.  
  


* * *

  
Daniel mutters something as they get him on the bike, but Johnny doesn't catch it. Probably for the best.

They're lucky his arms can still reach the handles from the back, but all this means is he has to crowd in close against Daniel: his thighs plastered to the outside of Daniel's; his chest against his back so tight he can feel his heart beat through his shoulder blades.

Johnny supposes he should still feel thankful the guy's alive, the way he had earlier running down the hill, a life of jail time and guilt flashing in front of his eyes. But with Daniel's head rolling back against his shoulder, his stupid hair tickling his nose, it's hard to exactly count his blessings.

He sighs and fidgets on his seat, and then quickly stops. Daniel's warm and little like a girl, and this is so fucking weird.

“You got that?” he calls over to Bobby, who is working out how to grip the bicycle with one hand while riding with the other.

“Yeah, but it's awkward. Wish Daniel had a lock or something so we could just leave it behind.”

“We _can_ just leave it behind,” says Johnny. “I mean, look at it. Who's gonna steal it? Probably good for nothing but the trash anyway.”

“How about we leave that up to him?” says Bobby. He checks his grip and then nods. “Okay, let's go.”

They have to ride achingly slowly, on account of the bicycle. The streets are empty, and Johnny tries to entertain himself by doing wide loops around Bobby as he makes his way along, but the constant turning makes Daniel shift restlessly and groan, so he stops. It takes fifteen minutes to reach a gas station. They stop behind it, figuring one guy riding with a comatose guy might attract attention, and Bobby goes inside to ask if anyone knows where the South Seas is.

Johnny's glad for the shadows for the same reason he was glad to be on the bike; he didn't like looking at Daniel. He feels an uncomfortable twinge of guilt when he looks at his busted head, or every time he's passed out and not responding in his usual smart ass way to something Johnny says.

Parked like this, there's no reason for both hands to be on the handlebars, and he drops one in favor of curling it around Daniel's waist, because the other boy keeps threatening to slide off the bike and it's annoying.

His waist is narrow and soft, nothing but give and heat beneath Johnny's arm, and it's so weird, it's so weird that this guy thought he could take Johnny in a fight.

Daniel stirs and his hands, which had been arranged limply in his lap to keep them out of the way, suddenly tense and land, bracing, on Johnny's knees.

“What the—” he starts, and Johnny bites back a curse. This again.

He tightens his arm around the other boy in warning and says, “Cool it, man. I'm not any happier about this than you are.”

Daniel turns his head, and Johnny has to raise his chin to avoid getting a mouthful of hair.

“What's going on?” asks Daniel, groggy. He probably sounds like this when he first wakes up in the morning. It's a strange thought, and Johnny doesn't like thinking it.

“Bobby's gone inside to ask about your apartment building, since you're a moron who doesn't know his own address.”

Daniel's hands slide a few inches up Johnny's leg and clamp down hard. Punk probably wants to punch him right now, Johnny's guessing. He ignores the feel of the strong grip on his legs. This is no different than in the dojo, he tells himself. Every body part is both a tool and a weakness.

“It's on Saticoy,” says Daniel, and it takes Johnny a couple seconds to understand.

“Why didn't you say that before?” he demands.

“I did.”

“No, you _didn't_ – hey, Bobby!” he calls over, spotting his friend coming around the building, defeat written in his posture. “LaRusso remembered something. Says it's on Saticoy.”

“Do you know where Saticoy is?” says Bobby, stopping twenty feet away. Johnny shrugs and shakes his head; Bobby sighs and runs a hand back through his hair and turns around to go back inside.

They don't speak again, though Johnny is pretty sure Daniel is still conscious. He can feel the tension running through his body. It's hard to miss that kind of thing when you're pressed all up against a guy.

“Hey, look – sorry about your brain damage,” says Johnny after a couple minutes. “I mean, you were kinda asking for it, but you weren't asking for this, so. Yeah.”

He turns his head and stares down the dark side street. He wonders what his mom would have said, if he'd shown up at home with the cops and a story about killing another kid. The sick dread that fills his stomach makes him twitch, an aborted shudder.

Daniel gasps out a little laugh that Johnny can feel through his spine. “ _Wow._ ”

He stiffens. “Well, hey, don't hurt yourself there, LaRusso. Not like we had to get you home, you know.”

“Yeah, you're a real stand-up guy.”

“Okay,” says Bobby, surprising them both by appearing suddenly beside the bike. “I have directions and I have Tylenol. Pretty sure that's what the school nurse gave me when I had a concussion freshman year.”

Daniel still needs help sitting up straight, so Johnny has to push forward from where he'd leaned back in anger, and between the three of them they get the pills down his throat.

“Thanks,” mutters Daniel to Bobby afterwards, and look at that, he can be civil to some people.

Bobby doesn't look pleased though. He glances at Johnny briefly, communicating something with his eyes that Johnny doesn't really catch, and then heads back to his own bike. They resume riding.

It's different with Daniel awake. He doesn't let go of Johnny's legs, for one, and he keeps shivering, like the the September California breeze is too much for his delicate self. Or maybe that's a concussion thing; the thought makes Johnny feel guilty again.

They're going slow enough he doesn't really need a hand on the brake bar, so he puts his arm around the other boy and hitches himself tighter to his back. The night's been so long, it almost doesn't feel wrong anymore. Daniel's small enough to fit there like he belongs, and that's a weird fucking thought, maybe concussions are contagious or something. Maybe Johnny's the one with brain damage.

Neither of them say anything again, which is good, because if Daniel says something about this ever, Johnny's probably going to kill him.

They ride on through the night streets.


End file.
